


move back home forever

by chasingflower



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, we love these stories right???? right????, we've got a happy ending folks do not worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingflower/pseuds/chasingflower
Summary: The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 10 years.Yeah. He knows.





	move back home forever

**Author's Note:**

> me, has an exam in two days: hehe fanfic
> 
> i really did just crank this out in one sitting so please bear with me; i'll most likely go back and edit most of it so we can comprehend it lmao. i don't think i've formally written anything in months but i'm hoping i'll be able get back into it because this was really a blast to write
> 
> enough of me rambling i hope u enjoy this!!!!

He freezes. It’s instinctive, panic-like, in a way – the primitive fight or flight reflex suddenly active and ready to go, go, _go_ –

The results say Tony is his father. This is not as startling as it should have been.

The results say Pepper is his mother. This is more startling, as Peter would have expected (if he had to expect, if he had to think of this (he knows of Mr. Stark’s reputation. He’s not stupid).

The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.

They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 15 years.

Yeah. He knows.

++

It was some stupid science project. “Check your blood types!” his teacher says, a grin on their face, “Compare the types and then come back with a page minimum of what you’ve found out.”

It looks like he’s got something to write about, at least.

(The worst part about it is he was even given an alternate assignment. He doesn’t have parents to blood type, so he was given permission to check those of people close to him: so he checked Aunt May’s and Mr. Stark’s.

It seems that he did the project correctly anyway.)

++

He goes to Ned first.

“Ned,” he says, and he feels like he’s unraveling. This can’t be happening. It’s just a coincidence, that must be it, there’s a different explanation. There _has_ to be.

Ned turns to him, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?” he says, and there’s something off about his tone. Maybe it’s because Peter’s shaking.

“You know the project for Ms. Warren’s class? The blood typing one,” he says, and he makes an effort to not stumble over his words. Ned nods in what looks like encouragement, so Peter continues. “I did mine on May, you know, because that makes sense. But I, I also did it on Mr. Stark, and we have the same blood type,” is what he ends up saying.

Ned blinks at him slowly. “Pete –”

“And I know blood types aren’t definitive, but I – this is the strange thing. May’s AB+, and both my parents were A-,” he interrupts, looking slightly panicked. He pushes his hair off his forehead. “Ned. I’m O+.”

Ned’s eyes widen.

Peter takes a deep breath. “Mr. Stark’s also O+.”

They blink at each other for a second. Peter bites his lip.

“I’m probably reading into this, or maybe I did the tests wrong –”

“Tests?” Ned repeats, eyes still wide. “Are you telling me you did it more than once?”

Peter shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I might have picked the wrong reagent or something.”

Ned shakes his head. “Peter. No offence, but I don’t think you’ve ever got a science project wrong in your life. Especially in biology.”

++

They poor over old photo albums, peter analyzing everything in a new light. He must have been adopted then, right? But he can’t find any definitive proof of this, and he thinks he might pull his hair out due to the uncertainty.

++

“Peter – these are all fake,” Ned says slowly, tone foreboding.

He looks up with a frown. _“What?”_

Ned moves closer and shows him the pictures. “Look, here – this is photoshopped. It’s close to perfect, but if you look at the edges, here,” and Ned points at the figure of two-year-old Peter, and Peter’s not sure what emotion he’s feeling. Panic, definitely. “whoever made these pictures must have done some kind of superimposing or something, but that’s definitely not what the original photo looked like.” He pauses for a second and rifles through the box of loose pictures.

“Also – Peter,” he says again, and Peter feels his stomach drop preemptively. “I’m not sure why, but there are two different babies in these pictures, at least.”

“Ned, what the fuck are you saying.” Peter asks, and his voice comes out harsher than he meant.

Ned doesn’t look upset at his tone, but his pinched expression is still there. “The baby pictures of you? I can tell that it’s you at age 5. But all of the actual ‘baby’ pictures? It’s someone else.”

There’s a ringing in his ears.

Is this normal?

“Why would your parents photoshop a baby in these pictures?”

Yeah. Good question.

++

They keep digging.

Old files, vaccine records, letters back and forth to Aunt May and Uncle Ben to his father.

His birth certificate.

++

He thinks he’s had enough shock for one day.

Then they find out his birth certificate is forged.

He’s panicking now.

++

“What do you mean it’s _fake_, Ned –”

“I _mean_ that it’s been forged! Look, I could be wrong, but if you look here –”

“How has _no one_ noticed that it’s fake?”

Ned winces. “They must not have been looking? It’s very slight, but. It’s not real.” Ned bites his lip. “Do you want to stop?”

The truth is, he does. He wishes that he stopped digging hours ago, that he could go back and pretend that everything he knew about himself was how it was growing up.

Because in the span of three hours he’s found out that most of his life has been a lie. A giant, utter fabrication, and he’s going to _freak out._

++

The only good thing is that when they confront May about it, she had no idea.

It makes some of it easier to handle.

(It means that if he was – he struggles to even think it – taken, abducted? Because he can handle adoption. But if he was adopted, they just wouldn’t have pictures of him at age 2. But they do (but they’re fake, so does it really even count?) Why would he be taken? Who would take him – did his parents know? (here, again, his stomach tightens: can he call them his parents? Does he now call them Richard and Mary? They’ve always been abstract concepts, figments of what he thinks he remembers; he holds on tightly to the Italian lullaby his father would sing –)

He feels like he’s drowning.

He feels like he’s about to spiral; he feels untethered, like he’s floating.

He’s not sure if he even knows who he is anymore – can he even call himself Peter Parker anymore? Is that even his name?

++

“Aunt May,” he says, finally, after dinner. After sitting in silence, after letting Ned to all the talking. She looks up at him, her own expression pinched with worry and fatigue. He can’t even begin to comprehend what she’s going through.

He wonders, vaguely, if they should go to the police. But then what? What does that mean for him? Does he get taken to a new family (his original family?) what about custody? Does he get to see may again, if the go and report him as a missing person’s case?

Everything seems to be warping and it hurts and he wants it to stop –

“May,” he says again, trying to shake himself from his thoughts. “I just. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

He doesn’t want to hear her sob, but when he looks up, her hand is pressed to her mouth, as if she’s trying to hide her own despair. “Oh, Peter,” she says, and her voice is wet. She clears her throat, and looks at him from behind her glasses, her eyes large and glassy. “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head. “You – you didn’t know,” he starts, but bites his lip hard. “I have these feelings. About my parents. But now I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

If anything, his works seem to make her even more upset. She’s somehow able to smooth her face out, and she reaches over the tables and squeezes his hand. “Ask me anything.”

He swallows. “I keep having these, these flashes, almost? Of a lullaby. I always assumed it was my d- I mean, Richard, you know. Singing,” he swallows again, looking steadfastly at the table. “It didn’t make sense, I couldn’t really get the words, but then I heard Mr. Stark say some of them the other day,” he gets out, and he smiles a little without really knowing why. “I guess I was tired, and he sang it to me; it’s just, the tune was right. But the words were Italian? I’m not sure if it’s a common song, or anything, but did Richard know Italian? Because that’s what it was. An Italian lullaby, and I know you speak it sometimes, so I know some of it, but. I wasn’t sure.” He trails off, feeling exhausted.

“Peter, look at me, please,” Aunt May says, voice soft. Peter does as she says, and feels his bottom lip tremble.

“Richard didn’t know Italian, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

++

He skips school.

++

He texts Happy saying he’s not going to the tower.

Happy calls him.

Peter turns his phone off.

++

It’s been a week. Peter still feels slightly untethered. He’s getting better, he thinks.

He gets to school. He turns in his science report, and tries his best to stay focused while she talks about the human genome.

His AP history class is only slightly worse, but that’s because he can’t tune out history as well (He knows his science. History he doesn’t get as easily). They play the announcements, and it’s all the usual stuff. Basketball game at 7pm on Friday, decathalon fundraiser this Saturday. Then the news. Usually it’s just the weather forecast, sometimes a blurb if there’s something of significance.

The news has a special.

_10 years since the disappearance of Peter Anthony Stark_, it reads, and it’s followed by a short statement by Mr. Stark and Mrs. Potts.

_“We love our son, and we hope with our entire beings that he’s safe. That he’ll come home.”_ The TV reads, and Peter feels like he’s dissociating.

They put a picture of what Peter Stark looked like at age 5 – and –

Peter thinks he’s going to puke.

Ned follows him out of the room.

++

“Breath in, Peter, I’m right here,” Ned says, and Peter’s gasping for air.

He’s dying, it feels like he’s dying, he can’t _breathe_ –

His watch chirps.

“Peter, your vital signs are highly irregular. Should I alert Mr. Stark?” Karen says. Her voice is even and it echoes off the walls of the bathroom.

Mr. Stark is – is he –

He wheezes in his next breath. Ned’s voice is louder, and there is an undertone of his own panic, but he keeps his voice from shaking.

“Peter, I’m going to let her call him if you don’t calm down.”

++

Peter wonders what it would be like to calm down. Just have a day to relax.

Just have a day.

He gets to the tower and feels like he’s going to puke.

It’s the anniversary of his abduction and he doesn’t know how to tell his – his _parents_ that he’s home, that he’s safe and that he loves them so so much and he doesn’t know what happened but he’s here now and that’s what matters, right?

(He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that he’s called Mr. Stark ‘dad’ already; he was tired and he thinks of him as a father figure so it made sense, it makes sense, but now he actually is his dad and he’s not sure exactly where this puts them. Are they supposed to forget everything? What does he do in this situation?)

He wants a hug, is what he wants.

He wants a hug, and he wants everything to be okay.

++

He looks at him with tears in his eyes. “I, I don’t,” he starts, a stutter of words, the beginning to what he hopes is the right thing.

Mr. Stark (Tony, he should call him Tony, now, right? Or should he call him dad? He’s dizzy with uncertainty and he can’t remember the last time he felt like he had control) looks at him, worry evident. “Pete, what’s wrong?”

Ha. Loaded question.

Peter opens his mouth, but how is he supposed to say, “I think I’m your missing son,” without sounding like he’s completely and officially Lost His Mind?

He knows he has the proof. He received his stupid blood typing project back, and he used the lab earlier to run the blood against each other in a bastardized paternity test.

(It came back positive, but he knew it would.)

“I,” he says again, but he feels like he’s being choked. He fights back tears and he’s angry with himself for not being able to say it; but he also doesn’t know how. He _has_ to be delicate about it, right? Especially today.

Tony looks even more concerned. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ll get to it, it’s alright.” He reaches forward and telegraphs his movements, stopping with his hands on peter’s shoulders. “Take all the time you need, kid.”

And. Well.

Something about the tone, the weight of the words he says, makes him snap. He’s held it together (fine, mostly together) for so long and he finally just lets himself cry.

He throws himself into Tony’s chest and starts bawling.

++

“I had a science project,” he croaks, once he stops crying. They’re upstairs now, and Pepper’s here. He’s sitting on the couch and he’s got a blanket around his shoulders, and he’s bracketed between the two of them (his parents, he thinks wildly. He’s sitting next to his _parents_).

“It was stupid, it’s just blood typing. I’ve done it before, but he wanted us to use our parents and compare them.” He continues. He picks at the blanket. “Mr. Stark said I could use his, so I did. We’re both O+,” he comments. He swallows. “My – Mary and Richard were both A-.”

He can tell that they freeze. “I told Ned, and he came over and we just. We were just looking? It wasn’t-” Peter sucks in a breath. “My birth certificate’s fake, did you know? I’m not even in my own baby photos, not until I’m 5.”

He hears them suck in their own breath. He looks up, and he feels the tell-tale lump his throat that means he’s going to cry.

Peter gives a half-hearted shrug. “I had FRIDAY run a paternity test,” he says, and bites his lip, hard. He watches Tony and Pepper, and they too look frozen in place.

They look startled, and also hopeful? “Peter –” Tony begins, and clears his throat immediately. “Peter, what are you saying?” His voice is trembling, and Peter sees where the two of them have their hands clasped together, knuckles white.

Peter sniffs and does his half-shrug again. “It was positive,” he says, and his voice is soft, because even though he said it, does it make it real?

His parents look at him, gaze piercing. It looks like they’re analyzing him, his facial features, his mannerisms, as if they’re trying to process what’s been told to them and match it up with what they’ve assumed he should look like and act like. Frankly, the scrutiny is nauseating, but he’s felt like this for the past week, so what’s a little longer?

They don’t say anything, so he breaks the silence with: “I hope that’s okay.”

This, more than anything, shocks them from their stupor. “Pete-” Tony croaks, and Pepper smiles widely. She’s crying, but the tears are silent.

“Of course it’s okay,” Tony – his _dad_ – says, and pulls Peter into a hug. Peter melts into it, feeling grounded, like he’s _home_ –

And he’s crying again.

It’s Pepper who continues. “Peter,” she says, and it feels like they’ve never said his name before, with the new weight behind it. “Peter, you can’t possibly know how relieved we are.”

He sniffs again and rubs his eyes. “Does this mean I get my own room?” and it’s supposed to be a joke, make the mood lighter, and it works. A little.

They pull him closer, and he’s come to the conclusion that he never wants to move. He’s fine right where he is, thank you very much. After the emotional upheaval that was this month, he’s okay with being clingy. He thinks he deserves that much, at least.

“Yeah, Pete,” Tony says, and he looks incandescently happy. His eyes are shiny and he’s got a giant grin on his face, and it’s infectious. “You move right back in.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! <3 <3 my tumblr is @evahmohns


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